Sunlight for Rain
by Geale
Summary: After several years of working abroad, Charlie is ready to travel back home. And maybe trade his love of dragons for something else. Or someone. Charlie/Harry SLASH.


**Summary:** After several years of working abroad, Charlie is ready to travel back home. And maybe trade his love of dragons for something else. Or someone.

 **Pairing:** Charlie/Harry

 **Rating:** M, to be on the safe side

 **Warnings:** Slash and allusion to previous infidelity of some sort.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **A/N:** I'm changing jobs and that was how I found the inspiration for Alden. The rest mostly wrote itself.

 **Sunlight for Rain**

The sun was beating down on the compound and the dusty green leaves that provided just a touch of shade were beginning to look rather dry and crumpled. Charlie made another attempt.

"All right. So…"

He glanced up at his companion. The thin man was looking bored. Much as he constantly had since his arrival by Portkey a couple of weeks earlier. He walked ungracefully in his heavy boots, too, which was fair since he had never worn anything quite like them before, but his general conduct was not one that impressed Charlie.

"These fences don't look like much but they're quite heavily spelled," Charlie continued, indicating but not touching the darkly veined wood. "It will be up to you to see that the magic is reinforced on a regular basis. It seems once every three months is sufficient."

The sand-mixed-with-gravel crunched underfoot as they made their way down the fence. Pale, knee-high shrubs lined the path on their left side. "Careful with these," said Charlie, with a sideways grin. "They're thorny buggers."

"Thank you, I've noticed," Alden remarked, dryly. His pale blue eyes showed absolutely no trace of humour. "I cut up half my shin yesterday."

Charlie fabricated another grin. "Hence the boots."

"Yeah, well…" he grimaced. "I don't like them either."

The dragon reserve was large. Not the largest one Charlie had worked on but big enough to give you plenty to do: the hands-on hard work and the lacklustre paperwork. So many people coming and going, some staying longer, some just a fleeting encounter. The air that was so sun-drenched it shimmered – and those lantern-lit evenings with the desert stretching out for miles around you and the velvety black sky sprinkled with thousands of stars. Not to mention the dragons, smaller here than in Europe but just as fierce.

It had been fun. For so many years it had been simply… _fun_.

Now that it was all coming to an end, however, he wished desperately that the joy he'd experienced over his years would stop trickling away into this uncomfortable feeling of restriction that stuck to him like spider web. He had never particularly liked having somebody hanging over his shoulder, observing his work and analysing it but if it was necessary he would very much have preferred someone who at least showed a bit of interest. By the way Alden was presenting himself, one could have thought he had been forced into this. Which he had not, as far as Charlie knew.

"After lunch we go over the correspondence," he said. "We should have got some test results back from the labs and then there was that request from the Argentinians…"

"I don't see why you use owl post for that," said Alden.

"Uh. Well…" Charlie ran a hand through his hair, some of it coming free from his already loose ponytail. "We need everything on paper. In case something should happen. Disputes and such. We had a case about a year back when one of the dragons came back with a tear in a wing that had not been properly hea…"

"There has got to be some better way," Alden cut across him. "I'm not going to spend my days sorting files and writing letters."

Again, that trickle of annoyance but Charlie chose not to bite. "Not my decision, mate."

"I'll take it up with Maria."

Charlie said nothing to that. He had liked the manager since their first meeting. She was a woman of noticeably short stature but with a big smile and biceps to match. They had worked well together from the start. Shooting another glance at the man who was replacing him, Charlie wondered yet again if he was making the right decision.

It had not been an easy one, to be sure. He could have chosen differently. He'd had options. But gradually, over a period of several months, it was as though some greater forced had steered him towards this one decision: to quit and return to Britain.

He supposed it had all begun when Teresia announced that she was pregnant and even though she had stayed on for a while, until she grew too heavy to unconstrained hop on and off a broomstick, eventually she left them for her waiting husband who still lived in their hometown. Then Luc's Muggle mother had unexpectedly passed and he was needed to sort out her affairs in Lyon. They had been great friends, the three of them, and by the time the other two had both left, it felt to Charlie as though a part of his heart had been chipped away.

And then Amare.

Charlie turned his gaze towards the sun that seemed intent on melting the sky. Squinting up at it he could almost feel the other man's palm flat on his belly as he leaned down to join their mouths in a kiss. Merlin, they'd been brilliant together. The first time Charlie had met him he had practically drowned in Amare's dark brown eyes. He was a skilled wizard and had brought a whole new set of tricks to the table. And the bed.

They had spent six sizzling months together before Amare's internship had come to an end and he, too, was supposed to leave. By that time, the Mexican Ministry had imposed a series of new regulations on dragon keeping that Charlie was not the keenest supporter of. So finally, one night when there was actually a faint breeze weaving through Charlie's little house, they had _talked_ and it turned out that the fuzzy concept called 'the future' which he had been trying to push from his mind for ages was suddenly an imminent prospect. Amare had secured a position at a research centre just outside Musoma, Tanzania and now he had all of his ten long fingers splayed on Charlie's bare chest. Dark, against all those freckles. His smile was in his eyes, too.

"You can come with me."

And he almost said yes. Except he did not. Maybe somewhere, on some level, he needed a break. Something new.

Or, he had reflected, hours later when the sun was creeping above the horizon and the world was tingling with rose-coloured light, maybe it was finally time. Because not even here – which sometimes felt like the end of the world – was he free of them: the old ghosts, half-quenched desires and a longing that swam just underneath the surface. A perpetual undercurrent to his daily life.

A few birds flew overhead, speeding off into the east. He would miss this place.

"Why don't you go on to the canteen?" said Charlie. "I'll join you in a bit."

Alden seemed just as unimpressed with this suggestion as he had with every other one Charlie had ever made in his presence. "I don't much care for the food, to be honest," he said. "When I was stationed in San José at least there were decent places to eat. Here…" He shrugged, by way of completing his sentence.

It _had_ been fun, Charlie repeated to himself as he solitarily wove his way between the cacti dotting the grounds. Tearing off his dusty shirt he felt the inked dragon stretch in the sudden splash of sunshine across his shoulder blades. It was just that with a daily dose of Alden's obvious lack of desire to actually do the same job Charlie had done for such a long time, he was almost forgetting that.

He ended up on his tiny porch, staring out over the sand. It gleamed red as the sun climbed towards its peak.

-ooo-

The rain made the pavement gleam a dark grey as Charlie took refuge under a sagging awning. He shuddered as the wind caught in his hair and blew it across his eyes. The bakery behind him was closed which had not been a part of his plan. Renewing his hold on his wand, he drew a deep breath and Disapparated.

-ooo-

The cottage was partly hidden behind two magnificent wisterias, maybe only slightly enlarged by magic. Closing the gate behind him, Charlie found himself in a dripping wet, brilliantly green jungle. Vines were creeping over the wrought iron fence and the grass had been allowed to grow quite tall, giving any passers-by the impression that here was really nothing to see.

There was a crack in the heavy blanket of clouds that covered the sky and for a moment a shift in the air that might have been sunlight glinted at him. He took it for a good omen.

But as he approached the house it struck him that for all the time he had spent envisioning this moment, it had never occurred to him that perhaps he should have thought of something to say. Now that it was here, that suddenly seemed like an issue and there was a painful twist in his stomach. Planning ahead had never been his area of expertise.

He would have knocked had the door not opened before he had reached the stone steps leading up to it. He had meant to stay cool (not a challenge in this weather) but his good intentions were defeated as soon as he put them to work. Because, as it turned out, the man in the doorway was fucking gorgeous. Like he had always been.

And the rain began falling again.

"Bloody English weather," Charlie remarked as he hurriedly climbed the steps.

"I guess you've got rather used to the opposite," said Harry, with a smile in the corner of his lips. He looked as though he'd just escaped the downpour himself, or the shower, what with his ink black hair sporting a wet shine like that.

He was leaning against the doorframe, pale though it was July, but with green eyes dancing. Charlie tried not to look too hard. Tried not to think about the way Harry was leaning towards him and yet keeping his distance. Or the way his jeans and simple t-shirt fit him. He was barefoot, something he tried to not think about either.

"Guess so." Charlie raked a hand through his hair. Then he could think of nothing else to say.

"Come in." Harry stepped aside to let him into the hallway. "I just got home so… sorry about the mess."

There was no mess, not that Charlie could spot anyway. He hung up his leather jacket and followed Harry into the kitchen. Here and there were signs of the kids, like small reminders of the fact that things could get awfully complicated very quickly.

"Mum sends her love," he began. "And orders you to Sunday dinner."

Harry threw a grin over his shoulder. It hit Charlie somewhere in the ribs. "I'm going. I thought I told her."

He shrugged. "You know how she is." Like he always said. Like all of them had always said.

Harry stopped, one hand on the teapot. His face became a little harder to read. "I'm there almost every Sunday."

A space of silence. Charlie glanced down. His own jeans, once black but now more grey than anything else, were still dusty. As if the desert had not yet let him go completely. Or maybe he was still holding on.

"So it's… working out?" He did the brave thing and looked up. "I mean, with you and Gin and everything?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded. He set about making tea and spoke rather matter-of-factly. "But we're thinking of selling the house. Come September Jamie is off to Hogwarts and perhaps it's time to move on properly, for all of us, you know."

"Gin's happy with her place?"

Again, that slightly odd look. Harry's dark brows drew together for a brief moment. "Charlie… It's been three years."

He knew that.

The rain was tapping on the windows. The kitchen was mostly painted white. Brighter, but not as cosy as the kitchen at The Burrow. Far more modern than the small kitchenette thrown into a corner of Charlie's old house in Mexico. Alden's house now.

"But," Harry went on, taking pity on him, "we'll see. Nothing's been decided yet." He grimaced. "Besides, we might need the space if Jamie is expelled for exploding something."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "There's a risk of that?"

From somewhere, Harry produced his wand. It looked like he Conjured it out of thin air which was – of course – impossible. Nevertheless, impressive. With a quick flicker of it, he brought the water to a boil. "He's, um, creative."

They settled in the sitting-room, on the sofa. Here and there were stacks of parchments and three bookcases overflowing with books, scrolls and papers took up an entire wall. Ministry stuff, Charlie supposed. And maybe some of Ginny's articles and her research.

"Like his father, then." Charlie grinned over the rim of his mug.

"More like his uncles." Despite the thin wisp of steam that rose from his tea, the gleam in Harry's eye still shone clear.

He stubbornly wore spectacles even though Hermione had been going on for half a decade now about how the Muggles apparently could fix things like near-sightedness with no strain at all. So far, however, she had been able to persuade absolutely no one in the family that seeing a _doctor_ sounded like a good idea. If there was one thing you knew about Muggle medicine, it was that a lot of needles were involved.

The house was quiet. On the mantelpiece, when he caught sight of them, Lily and Albus were frantically waving at him from a photograph. James was in another frame, standing beside his mother and looking suitably awkward. A stuffed animal (a Niffler staring lovingly at a fluffy Galleon) was propped up beside it.

Charlie sipped his tea and wished he knew where to begin.

When Harry lowered his mug, leaned forwards to rest his elbows on his thighs and began his next sentence with a sigh, he knew his time was up.

"Charlie…" Harry dropped his gaze to his tea. "It's been five years."

"Four," Charlie corrected him, quickly. "I only came back because Percy got engaged and they hosted that dreadful banquet at her parents' house. It dragged on for hours, do you remember?"

"All right. Four," Harry conceded, apparently refusing to be swept up in any tide of memories. He slowly turned the mug in his hands. "A lot happens in four years."

A cold, sinking feeling passed through Charlie. Outside, the sky was darkening ominously and the wind was picking up, swirling the rain around the corners of the house and through the overgrown garden. And there he went again, wishing he was back at the reserve, wading through the sunlight, no personal business which you needed to react responsibly to in sight and nothing but dragons and relationships that never were anything more than… well, _fun_. In short, he wished himself a million miles away.

"I know," he said, instead. Because he also was not getting any younger.

"Why now?"

"I've grown out of it."

Harry looked up, and if he was trying to keep a smile from breaking across his face he was failing. "Really?"

Charlie shook his head. He deposited his mug on the coffee table and sat back. "No. But it was time… My closest friends had already left, the Mexican Ministry was being obnoxious regarding breeding and… Well, everything must come to an end, eventually, I suppose."

"I don't know…" said Harry. "I mean, if you still like it…"

"I loved it. I left loving it," Charlie told him, plainly. "But… The Muggles have a saying: 'If you love something, let it go.'"

He had not meant it quite like that.

A hint of colour touched Harry's cheeks and he looked away.

Or maybe he had. Four years ago.

Swallowing, Charlie evaluated his options. "I came home," he began, slowly, "because things had changed at the reserve and I was ready for something new. And… I am here…" He paused just at the edge of the cliff, wondering if he'd grow wings if he pushed himself off it. "I am _here_ because we're friends and you're family and I wanted to see you and after what happened I guess I've always wondered…"

"Ginny and I were still married back then…" There was a strain to his voice and he did not look directly at Charlie.

"I know. We've been over it." He could not help half a smile.

Harry, too, set aside his mug and it was impossible to ignore the way his t-shirt hugged his nicely toned arms and chest. If Charlie had known Aurors were in such good shape he might have explored that path much earlier.

"It wasn't you," said Harry. "Ginny and I were drifting apart already." He ran a hand over his jaw. There were a couple of fine lines in the corners of his eyes, Charlie noted, and he would need a shave again in the morning.

"Good to know." It was all he could think of saying. It was a relief, really, to hear it.

But Harry did not look convinced. "Do you even care?"

"Of course I do!" He leaned in, just as the other man rose from the sofa to wander over to one of the windows. "Look," Charlie licked his lips. "She's my sister and that only makes it…"

But Harry was shaking his head. "I'm sorry… It's just…" When he turned back to Charlie, his shoulders had slumped. "You see, I had very nearly finally reached the decision that the best thing I could do was to forget it ever happened."

The rain drummed against the windows as they looked at each other. The afternoon gloom was drifting across the room, moving in shades of grey and silver as the wind pushed the clouds in whatever direction it fancied.

Then Harry smiled. It was only a small smile, somewhat bleak, but there it was. "It's been four long years."

Charlie patted the sofa beside him. "Come here."

Harry did. All lean legs and arms and messy hair that showed no sign at all of being in the mood for greying any time soon. He came to sit beside Charlie who could finally – gingerly – lay a hand on his thigh and gauge the reaction. Harry swallowed.

"I meant to get us something from the bakery," said Charlie.

"They close early."

"Yeah, I noticed."

He slid his palm a few inches further up. Mid-thigh now, maybe a little higher. Behind his spectacles, Harry's beautiful green eyes had widened. Charlie kissed him.

-ooo-

A gentle swipe of his wand had placed the photographs of the children and Ginny picture down. They both felt more comfortable that way.

Their clothes were on the floor. It was easier that way.

Easy, too, was to burrow your face in the crook of Harry's neck and squeeze your eyes shut and just forget about everything else. Except, that was, for the way that Harry was moving on top of you. His breath was hot against Charlie's shoulder, and the way that his fingers tangled in Charlie's hair made the latter want to push up even deeper. Not that that was possible.

Seated, tangled. Harry's legs around his hips. Charlie felt his inked dragon crawl restlessly over his spine. He dragged his hands up Harry's sides, gasping for breath and wishing it would never end.

But if it did, this time he'd trade sunlight for rain.

 **End**


End file.
